Lost and Wanted: A Novel by Nell Freudenberger

Author:Nell Freudenberger
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Knopf
Published: 2019-04-01T23:00:00+00:00

6.

The last time I saw Charlie was a few days before Christmas in 2012. She, Terrence, and Simmi were in Brookline for the holidays; we had planned that she would bring Simmi to our house, where the nanny I employed then, Pema, would look after both children while Charlie and Terrence and I went out to dinner.

The fact that Charlie and I had landed in each other’s hometowns was a coincidence, and it should have made it easy to see each other at least once a year. They always came to Boston for longer than Jack and I went to L.A., and so it made more sense for us to meet while they were in town. The Boyces were more demanding than my family, though, and much more socially active. When Charlie brought her family to Brookline for Christmas, there was always a slate of holiday visits and events on their calendar. Charlie had groaned about those obligations to me by text—once we were in the same time zone—but we often made plans that she canceled. When my phone rang that afternoon, I thought she was doing it again. Instead Charlie said that Simmi had a bad cold, and that she was going to leave her at her parents’ with Terrence, while just the two of us had a night out.

That evening when I opened the door she did her customary shriek and grabbed me. We rocked back and forth, hugging each other, until I felt it was reasonable to detach myself. It had been four years since I’d seen her in L.A., and we’d been in only sporadic touch.

“I think it worked out for the best,” she said, once she got inside. “I really wanted you to see Sims, but having Terrence at dinner would’ve changed the whole dynamic. My mom was dying to have you and Jack for the Christmas Eve party, but I told her you’d be in L.A.”

Charlie looked around my living room, which I’d been seeing through her eyes all day, with misgivings.

“This is so Helen,” she said. “It’s perfect.”

Charlie liked to read even more than I did, but she wouldn’t have installed built-in bookshelves in the living room. I knew without having seen the inside of her house that the furniture would go together in a complicated way I wouldn’t be able to articulate; that there would be a chandelier somewhere; and that at least one piece of furniture would be upholstered in toile. There would be a faux zebra rug, and especially nice bathrooms. She couldn’t possibly have admired the midcentury modern living room set I’d purchased from a vintage warehouse in the South End—not because I especially liked that period, but because it seemed like what people bought these days—or my grandmother’s threadbare Persian rug. Still, I felt that when she said “so Helen,” her admiration was genuine.

“I love these old Victorians,” she said, taking off her coat and hanging it over a wooden bench just inside the door. “I love that it’s blue.

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